I remember everything about that day. The last rays of the Sun were dancing all around us, different shades of yellow colouring the city. There was a gentle breeze and just a touch of magic. A foreign place, a dream-like land with not a soul whom I knew. That's how a holiday should be. Only when you cut away real-life, you allow yourself to dream, to fantasize, to accept magic. Anyway, that was when I met him. There was something about him, something most people saw but never chose to investigate. His eyes met mine and I knew nothing would ever be the same.

But, I think I'm getting ahead of myself. For once in my life, let me not.

I'm John H. Watson, M.D., Late of the Army Medical Department, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers , a humble servant to the Queen. Atleast, that's who I was.

I was shot in the shoulder in Afghanistan and thus deported. I was given some money, but what use was money to a broken man? A man who understood that life was without purpose and the other seven billion are shown their purpose in life by a select few to further their own interests. We kill dreams for money, kill love for lust. I had lost all my faith in humanity when I returned. I lived in my sister's place for a few days, doing nothing but merely existing. My sister was a smart woman. She seemed to understand what was happening without me saying a word. She was also a great woman, she never once offered sympathy or tried to cajole me into thinking that the world was a better place. I loved her for that. And it was that love which finally gave into her requests. I found myself with a suitcase in hand and a ticket to Paris in my pocket and a glimmer in her eye.

"If you are going down, might as well stay in Paris first" she smiled, asking me to hope.

I formally kissed her on the cheek and left. She visits us every weekend now.

There were so many ways our meeting could have never occurred. It still gives me the chills to think about them. I asked him about this many times and the thought haunts him too. He understands probability, he understands how easily we could have gone our separate ways. When you meet a new person, it happens due to a series of events, a chain all leading up to that one big moment. And that one turn you took on the street, that one construction site that forces you to change direction, that one reason why you went out (I went to buy milk), that random but sudden feeling in your gut to play the violin (or maybe that's just because you don't want your brother to know your first song). My point is I could have very easily not met him in my life. I could be doing something entirely differently. And, he is the reason why I believe our life is a continuous motion of little wheels, all of them turning to prepare you for this. All the suffering you had to go through, all the tears shed, broken faith, shards of your heart trying to heal – they're all for this one big moment.

He scoffs at the idea though, asking me not to fret over "could be's" and "what ifs". But it does make good tea-time conversation.

There he was. Playing away on a violin. Almost lazily, but anyone who really saw him could at once understand that the song meant a lot to him. He later told me that it was called Heal and that he burned away the sheet music because it made him feel. He can be crazy like that sometimes.I sometimes heard the opening notes, muffled, coming from the living room, always abruptly stopped. And as the years passed by, he slowly forgot about the song completely. I don't blame him. He has a folder full of his own music now.

Five years ago, I met him in a dream. And I never woke up.

A/N: Open to interpretation. Please let me know your own interpretation. Very few things would give me greater joy.

I sincerely thank each and everyone who has read this.

The next chapter will be a detailed story of how they met. If this chapter has made you feel something, I suggest that you don't read that.